Tools of Angels
by lorichelle.213
Summary: The biggest rush in his life is saving one.


Arthur's heart rate always soared as he sat at the ready in the ambulance with the sirens blaring, racing towards a citizen in need. It was the biggest rush; flying down the street, the voice of dispatch on the radio reporting, the mental preparation it took to be able to stay composed no matter what you found on the scene. And even though his heart pounded against his breast, his hand remained perfectly steady. Ready, working hands, "tools of guardian angels" one elderly woman told him once as he pulled her from her burning car.

He'd seen it all; transporting victims of apartment fires, treating people at the scene of horrific car crashes, even performing CPR on a child who nearly drowned.

The biggest rush in life is saving one.

They were responding to a call about a hit and run accident involving one vehicle. The caller reported that they saw one SUV chasing a smaller luxury sedan, violently pitting it and sending it rolling, the black Lexus ending up on its hood. The SUV sped off into the night barreling down the highway that led out of city.

It was 3am so thankfully there weren't many other cars on the road to impede their path. Arthur felt the ambulance slow to a halt and as soon as it stopped, he leapt into action; bursting through the doors, opening them wide to let his fellow EMT for the night out with her kit and ran after her.

It was always a shock the first moment he laid his eyes on a scene.

Glass littered the street, sparkling in the golden street lights. He rushed over and knelt down to look for the victim. He saw a man on his back, looking as if he had managed to crawl out of the driver's seat and lay sideways, his head near the passenger side window, which was shattered. He wasn't moving, so Arthur tried calling out to him.

"Sir! Sir, can you hear me?"

He faintly heard the man groan and tilt his head towards his voice and though he detected sarcasm in the response.

"Loud and clear," he said as he reached his arms above his head and reached for Arthur.

Arthur told his partner to get a stretcher while he reached and wrapped his hands under the injured man's shoulders and began to pull him out of the wreckage. The man cried out in pain but Arthur didn't stop; his first priority was to remove the man from the initial danger.

Once he had the man out, he laid him out on the cold street to check him over.

"Don't move, sir," he said calmly as he cupped the man's neck. The man's face was screwed up in agony and moved one of his hands over his chest.

"Sir, you need to tell me where you're hurt." His female partner began to put on the neck brace and the driver wheeled over the stretcher.

The man didn't answer so Arthur turned his attention to the hand that was covering the man's chest, noticing now how much blood was spreading from the area. He gently removed the hand and realized it was a gunshot wound.

He turned to his team. "He's been shot! Let's get him up!"

They loaded him into the ambulance and Arthur immediately began to apply pressure to the wound. There wasn't enough blood for him to panic about but what chilled him was the fact that he knew the bullet was still inside.

The man beneath him whined.

"What's your name, sir?"

"E-Eames," he squeaked, "Could you turn that dam thing off?!"

"I know the sirens are loud but they're also necessary."

Eames' breathing became erratic and his eyes flew open. Looking up from where she was cleaning Eames' cuts on his face, the female EMT spoke into her radio, apparently addressing the hospital they were en route to.

"Emergency, victim has many lacerations and a gunshot wound to the chest, I repeat, a gunshot wound to the chest, please be advised!"

Eames started at this and grabbed Arthur's arm tightly, eyes boring into his and as Arthur stared, transfixed, he realized what he saw in those steel blue eyes.

Fear.

Keeping one hand pressing on the wound, Arthur gripped Eames' with his other.

When Eames spoke, Arthur found it hard to tear his gaze away from that full mouth, with a little cut on the bottom lip.

"What's your name?"

"Arthur" he replied when he finally met his eyes again.

-

When they pulled into the emergency entrance at the nearest hospital, the doors were opened and the stretcher was slowly lifted out and was being wheeled quickly into the building.

Arthur never let go of Eames' hand.

Doctors and nurses met them as they ran and Arthur told them everything, including how he feared the bullet was still lodged within his chest. They got into a room where they lifted Eames off the stretcher and onto an operating table and the doctors began rushing Arthur out.

Arthur hesitated and looked at Eames again, into those terrified eyes, whose hand gripped his impossibly tighter, as if he were trying to mold their skin together as one.

"Sir, you must leave!"

He was finally wrenched from Eames and as he was being pushed out of the room, he heard Eames cry out.

"Arthur!"

The desperate, frightened sound of that voice shook Arthur's very soul.

-

The next two hours were the longest in Arthur's life.

When his shift finally ended at 5am, he dashed back into the emergency unit and ran around asking the nurses where Eames was, if he was ok… if he was alive.

"Oh, Mister Eames?"

Arthur swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and nodded at the nurse.

"He's been admitted. He's upstairs in room 528 I believe."

Arthur's relief escaped him in a rushed exhale. He said his thanks and headed to the elevator.

-

It was quiet on the fifth floor and when Arthur found room 528, he paused.

This was a perfect stranger. And never before had he felt such reckless worry over a citizen he had helped. Something in the man's eyes captured him, made him feel some kind of instant connection, a force not unlike gravity that rendered him rooted to the earth.

As he gripped the cold handle of the door, he felt as if he was taking a chance. He had heard that some people come into your life by fate, that there were people in this world who were meant to cross your path. And so powerfully destined was it that the moment you locked eyes, you knew this person could change your life forever.

As he pushed open the door, he couldn't shake the notion that he was stepping over a line, taking a leap of faith.

The room was dim save for the fluorescent light above the head of the bed and it was quiet, except for the beeping of the monitors. Eames seemed to be asleep so Arthur made his way to his bedside silently.

He had been cleaned up, the dirt and grime and glass had been washed away, leaving only a few scrapes and cuts about his face and arms and several bruises. He could see white bandages placed around his shoulder and across his chest, the thickest dressings over his heart where the wound was.

How close had he been?

He sat down next to Eames on the bed, careful not to wake him.

The man looked very serene in sleep. His dark eyelashes fell against his lightly tanned skin in perfect contrast. His features were strong; nose, cheekbones, jaw...

Again, those lips were so beautiful, full and no longer spotted with blood but the tiny cut was still there on the bottom lip. Arthur tilted his head and couldn't stop himself from reaching out and he very softly ran his fingertips over the smooth mouth and before the urge to lean in and press his own against them overcame him, Eames' eyes fluttered open.

Their eyes locked and Arthur felt like he was falling into a dark, warm night and he could swear he could begin to see stars dancing in those orbs.

"My Prince Charming"

Arthur blinked and drew his hand back quickly and cleared his throat and hoping his blush was not visible in the low light. Eames chuckled up at him.

"I wanted to make sure you were ok."

"And I am, thanks to you," those full lips said to him.

Eames seemed to stare straight through him and he reached for Arthur, wincing as he strained his upper body and Arthur quickly took his hand in both of his, wrapping it in a warm cocoon of his own. Eames gave a contented sigh and smiled sweetly up at Arthur.

"You saved my life, Arthur."

It was the words that gave him reason to live; the reason for why he does what he does. He's heard these words countless times and they've never failed to fill him with something unexplainable, made him feel whole and complete, like he was a superhero fulfilling his destiny.

And yet, hearing those words from this man, this total stranger who had somehow cast his line and caught Arthur hook, line and sinker… the way Eames was looking at him as he said it, Arthur felt something inside him change.

And before he knew what he was doing, he was leaning down and placing his lips upon that mouth that drew him like a parched man to water. Eames seemed a little surprised at first but let out a slow, tiny breath and pressed his lips against his in return, both of their eyes open and gazing entranced. It was a brief moment, but a poignant one and when Arthur pulled away, he blinked a few times and saw Eames' face burst into a smile from ear to ear and it was so contagious that Arthur felt his dimples pressing into his cheeks and couldn't fight the little uncharacteristic giggle that escaped him.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "So why did you get shot?"

Eames had a faraway look for a long moment, which made Arthur squirm before an undecipherable expression crossed his face and Arthur felt like he was about to be allowed into some special and fragile secret. He squeezed the hand in his unconsciously.

"Tell me, Arthur darling, do you dream?"


End file.
